“Good reasoning, Crozan.”
“But the rise was spiked. Accordingly, Rydel had no further purpose in New York. Logically, he would have come back to Washington.”
“Quite logically.”
“So I intimated as much, senator, to see what his reaction would be. Rydel guessed what I was driving at; he had to parry my thrust. He took the tack of pretending that he had really stayed in New York.”
“He did not say so, outright.”
“I take it he was afraid to do so. Afraid that one of us might have seen him here in Washington.”
“Have you seen him here, Crozan?”
“No. I seldom leave my rooms at the Barlingham; but Rydel does not know that fact. That is why he hedged—as I expected he would.”
REACHING the Barlingham, Harry parked the car and went up to Releston's apartment. The senator instructed him to keep in close touch with Congressman Coyd, in reference to the speech which Coyd intended to deliver. Harry found other duties; it was almost evening before he managed an opportunity to leave the senator's apartment.
Dusk had obscured the Hotel Halcyon. In Suite 808, a figure was seated in front of the writing table. It was The Shadow, in his guise as Arnaud; Burbank was off duty, asleep in the other room. The telephone buzzed; The Shadow answered it. He spoke in a quiet, methodical tone, a perfect imitation of Burbank's voice. Harry Vincent reported.
Five minutes later came a report from Clyde Burke; the reporter was keeping tabs on the police investigation of Weed's murder. Twenty minutes later, Cliff Marsland called in, reporting for himself and Hawkeye. They had picked up no facts concerning Walbert and Quidler, except that the dicks had checked out of their respective hotels.
It was obvious that the sleuths had decided to decamp after hearing of the raid at Stew's gambling joint; and the news of Weed's death had doubtless spurred them to an immediate departure.
The Shadow was no longer concerned with Walbert and Quidler. They were harmless; it had been Jake's idea, not theirs, to torture Cliff. The Shadow had assigned Cliff and Hawkeye to more important duty. Cliff was watching Dunwood Rydel's home; Hawkeye was covering the F Street garage, where Mullard frequently took the big limousine.
Tyson Weed's death was a mystery to the police. The Shadow was content that it should remain so. With Weed eliminated, the plans of crooks would proceed. That suited The Shadow; for he knew that their chief purpose was the gaining of wealth, not the taking of human life.
Men of crime would work as they had before; through Congressman Layton Coyd. The Shadow had gained an insight into their procedure; fitted facts showed him the answer that he had sought. When crooks chose to move, The Shadow would do likewise. Already he had guessed when their new stroke would come.
For in the facts that Harry Vincent had reported in detail were clues that The Shadow needed. He saw the approach of opportunity for men of evil to thrust in quest of wealth. One failure had not balked them; another chance was due.
A chance for greater wealth; a cleanup that would surpass the attempt to build up munitions stocks. That chance which crooks were prepared to seize would be a chance for The Shadow to counteract their superstroke.
CHAPTER XVI. TWO DAYS LATER.
TWO nights had passed. It was noon in Washington, the sidewalks an inferno from the heat of the sun. Mild weather had been followed by an unexpected heat wave—if such an occurrence could ever be called unexpected in Washington.
Coming from the Hotel Barlingham, Harry Vincent entered a drug store and put in a telephone call. The voice that answered him was Burbank's. Harry reported tersely.
“Coyd's this morning,” he stated. “Doctor's order final... Coyd to speak from his home... Radio electricians have completed installation... Coyd's speech denouncing utility profits approved by Releston... Returning to Coyd's with copy. Will remain there...”
His report ended, Harry entered the parked sedan and drove to Coyd's. Mose admitted him, and Jurrick met him on the stairs. The secretary shook his head solemnly; the indication was that Coyd had felt the heat severely.
When Harry arrived in the second−story living room, he found the congressman slumped in his chair.
Looking up, Coyd smiled weakly as he saw the copy of his speech in Harry's hand.
“Releston likes it?” he inquired.
“The senator is highly pleased,” responded Harry. “In fact, he feels that you have gone further than essential.
Those utilities that you mention—”
“I understand,” interrupted Coyd. “My speech almost condemns them. Why not? Their rates have been excessive, Vincent. To state that they will be placed under permanent regulation is a wise step.”
“Senator Releston knows that,” assured Harry. “But he told me to remind you that the committees intend to fix the rates definitely. Once regulation is made, the government's part will be done.”
“Do you know what that means, Vincent?” demanded Coyd, sitting upright, despite the protest of Tabbert, who was present. “Once the rates are settled, they will make economies that will enable them to build new profits.
“They will grasp!” Coyd extended his hands and clutched the air. “They will grasp, like octopuses—or octopi—drat it! Hand me that copy of my speech so I can see which is correct: octopuses or octopi.
“No—never mind! I'll read it correctly when I come to it. Anyway, those utilities will grasp. They always grasp, the lot of them. I shall defy them—”
Coyd slumped back, gasping. His eyes closed wearily. Harry spoke quietly.
“ACCORDING to Senator Releston,” declared Harry, “the danger does not lie in the future. Once the utilities are properly regulated, their profits cannot be too great. At least those of certain utilities, the ones which the committees have specifically named.
“The danger, sir, is in the present. Should a false statement be made by either you or Senator Releston, the prices of stocks would leap. Huge profits would be made by present holders; and there is every reason to suppose that a hidden group has invested heavily in those securities.”
“I know it,” said Coyd, with a weak chuckle. “I know it, Vincent, and that is why I have worded my speech accordingly. I want to make those stocks go down; I want my revenge upon the scalawags who tried to clean up on munitions.
“I was nearly the goat for that game. Even yet, I cannot understand how or why I made such strange statements. My worried brain must have tricked me to do the very thing that I would not normally have done.
“That is why I have gone to the other extreme. I have made my speech so strong, so full of adverse inference, that small stockholders will unload at the present price, which is a fair one, and leave the swindlers holding the bag, unable to sell except at a great loss. Why does Releston object?”
“He does not object,” replied Harry, tactfully. “At the same time, he showed reluctance in finally approving statements which tended to exaggeration. He told me to mention that fact, Mr. Coyd. However, he said that he would have disapproved any statements that might have aided speculation.”
“I have placed none in my speech,” remarked Coyd. “So the matter is settled, Vincent. Sit down, if you intend to remain here. Let me rest a while. I expect to rehearse my speech after Doctor Borneau arrives.”
HALF an hour passed while Harry lolled in a chair. Tabbert and Jurrick stole in and out at intervals. It was Tabbert, finally, who approached and spoke quietly to Coyd, napping in his chair by the window.
“A radio technician is here, Mr. Coyd,” said the red−haired secretary. “He wants to install some apparatus.